January 31

I'm not a one-trick pony. I promise. But today, on Logan's half-birthday, he --or God, on his behalf-- made his presence known in a classically Logan way with a barrage of Cars --and cars.

The Target parking lot was uncharacteristically crowded this morning. I turned down one aisle, fully intending to loop back around in search of a less walking-intensive spot. But then I literally stopped when I saw this:

A bright blue Corvette. Isaac looked over, saw it, and insisted that I needed to take a picture. So I did just that. And I have to tell you: it was a beauty.

Then this evening, during yet another sojourn to Target (don't ask), I spied a brand new Pixar die cast car that we didn't yet own. With rabid adult collectors snagging most of the new issues, I rarely come across fresh releases. While Logan was hospitalized, I took him a brand new car almost every day, and I remember how they made him smile. How he'd look at me expectantly and then grin when I pulled out an unopened package. I miss that. But finding new cars gives me a taste of that old feeling.

Finally, just to close out the day, there was one more sighting, so to speak. As I left the parking lot, another pristine Corvette, this one bright red, sat at the back of the lot.

To most folks, they're just cars. But these three cars -- well, today, they meant an awful lot to me. And God had to know they would.

January 30

I walk by this truck almost every single day.

It sits parked on a street between our house and Abby's school, and as odd as it may seem, I can see God in those swirls of paint. I can still hear the echo of Logan's gleeful voice chirping look, a flame job! from inside our stroller as we walked our homeward path.

It takes me back. It makes me remember. And on the eve of my Sunshine's half-birthday, I can't --and wouldn't-- ask for anything more.

January 29

I wrote what amounted to an entire treatise on today's photo. But then I chucked it, because quite often, less is more and more is way, way too much.

It's Brady sniffing a tiny white daisy he picked while waiting for Isaac to finish his speech therapy session this afternoon. A little guy enjoying one of the simplest pleasures this planet has to offer. Yep, God's all over it.

January 28

Today was hard. I slept especially poorly last night, and once I finally managed to shake the restlessness that denied me the ZZZs, I was awakened not once but twice by atypical noises -- car alarms, jackhammers, oh my. When I finally rolled out of bed, I knew I'd have to make a conscious effort to have a good day. And I definitely could've tried harder.

But I did what I could to not let it be a total loss of hours. I snapped this photo of the sky as I headed out with the Little Boys to retrieve Abby from school.

I know: another picture of clouds. Yippee. But seriously, the image does speak to me. It's beautiful. The sky is stunning, and the clouds vibrant and varied. There are the resplendent, eye-catching ones, but there are also finer ones that resemble wispy stretched cotton.

Bear with me because this may be weird, but I think I can categorize the events of my life --and how I cope with them-- into cloud groupings. The big things --like getting married, having all of my babies-- are like the big, bright ones. They're not pictured here because it was a lovely day, but losing Logan is like an imposing storm cloud, black and ominous. Those are the BIG ones -- the things we notice because they're right there, in our faces. And they have a long-lasting impact on our world (and God) views. And --looking at the picture-- they're the ones we're most likely to remember.

But it's important to remember those wispy clouds, too. The ones that are so faint that you have to squint to see them. Why? Because I think they're like the mundane tasks of daily life. There's nothing spectacular about them, but they're still present in the sky and they're still important. And despite the lack of notoriety, they're also beautiful in their own way.

And on days like today, it's important for me to remember --and to remember to value-- those everyday moments that constitute so many of life's more mundane joys and pains.

January 27

After dinner tonight, I gave Isaac a sheet of paper and asked him to draw a picture of himself. He did an admirable job of putting his 4-year old art skills to work by creating a rendering that included a head, body, arms, legs, hands and feet. He even included blue and red pajamas, part of a blue wall (since he said he was in his room), a teddy bear and a unique toy -- Jesus in a boat.

And then he flipped the paper over and drew this (and sorry it's sideways; I can't figure out how to convince Blogger that it should go the other way):

It is, in a nutshell, our family. But I was quite taken by the composition. He carefully traced his hand twice, and then got to work adding each of us --Logan, Abby, Brady, Adam, Isaac and me-- inside the outlines.

Maybe it's a stretch, but in the moment, it reminded me that though our family is separated for now, we're all still together in God's hands. And it made Heaven feel a little less far away.

January 26

My friend Sherrie sent me an email today letting me know about a rather extraordinary chain of events she experienced while on a drive this morning. She was convinced that God and Logan had conspired to put together a message that she was supposed to share with me -- and I think she was absolutely right.

The nuts and bolts of it? She was driving along a local road and saw a rainbow ahead, which made her think of my Sunshine. Then she looked in her rear view mirror and saw... a Corvette. (Ta-da!) Finally, she said Lean on Me came on the radio, which sealed the deal: she had to tell me what she'd seen.

What she didn't know was that I was feeling down this morning; I'd had a big moment of doubt regarding Heaven and earth and what's real and what's not. The timing of the message she shared was completely perfect. It snapped me out of my gloomy mood. It renewed my faith in the here and now and in what's to come. And all of that, my friends, is invaluable.

I'm like everyone else on this planet. I could rationalize my way out of believing that Sherrie's experience meant anything at all. But why would I want to return such a big gift? Nope, I'll keep it and add it to the storehouse of like-treasures I keep in my heart. And I'll be looking for more rainbows, too.

January 25

I hemmed and hawed and hemmed some more over this particular wink. After all, it's one thing to like The Hoff. It's quite another to inadvertently come across as a crazed superfan. But when shove came to push came to shove, it was much too good to pass up.

This is the car that pulled out in front of me as I drove Isaac to preschool this morning.

Not only is it a Corvette --which if you're not already aware, was Logan's favorite model and the type of car that we associate with him-- but the license plate references the great 80s action/adventure drama Knight Rider.

Where's the winking come in? Since Christmas, I've spent many of my evenings watching re-runs of... Knight Rider. I just looove me some KITT!

See? God has a sense of humor. And in my humble opinion, anyone at all can see the fruits of said humorous streak, as long as you're paying attention.

January 24

Today was busy. And productive. And long. But not bad. Nope, not bad at all.

That's why it may be a little funny that my wink comes in the form of a mundane, post-dinner moment highlighted by a cup of decaf hazelnut coffee and my beloved recliner.

There's something completely, well, blessed about those stolen moments. They give me a chance to decompress and think, or alternately --some days-- to think about nothing at all. God knows how much we need down time, and I enjoy mine with a cup of something warm and delicious.

January 23

There's nothing like a good puddle. At least, that's what my kids think. A series of cloudbursts left an ample supply of them dotting the sidewalks this afternoon, and the Little Boys soaked themselves to the skin with splishing, splashing, wetter-than-a-sponge-style fun.

Now I don't like messes, and the fact that I let them go crazy is a big deal. But as I watched them play --as most of the other parents at the school carefully walked an extra-long perimeter around them to evade the gleeful stomps that sent forth spritzes of water-- I remembered that life isn't about being neat and precise all the time. God creates built-in opportunities for fun --and dancing!-- in the rain. And we're supposed to take them.

And of course, visions like this are the cherry on top:

I wish Logan could be there, holding Isaac's free hand. But he's there in my mind's eye. And in whatever way possible, I'm sure he was out there splashing with them, too.

January 22

Today spilled over with small blessings. So many, in fact, that I actually had a hard time choosing which moment to include here. Which would serve as the best overall God-byte? The sunny sky? The 65-degree weather? The good moods? The tasty coffee? The late afternoon car ride and conversation with a friend's bubbly daughter? The quickie chat with one super cool chick at Costco? After much mulling, I finally settled on this one

The itty bitty guy in the center of the picture is Isaac, who made his grand return to dance class today. (Brady's the lil' dude looking on from the doorway.) After a tumultuous first year of lessons, I decided we'd take the Fall season off, and then let him decide if he wanted to pick it up again in the Spring. And after today's foray, he came out ready to give it a go.

He spent the entire afternoon repeating a line from his brand new song, What's New at the Zoo. And I mean the entire afternoon. Poor Abby was ready to string him up after a while, but not me. I'm happy to see him so excited about strapping on his tap shoes and bustin' a move. I love dance and Logan really --and I mean really-- loved dance and the sense of shameless freedom it provides. And it's a big blessing to me that at least one of my Little Boys loves it, too. (And you know something? I think they both do. You can't see it from this angle, but Brady was wearing tap shoes, too.)

January 21

Today was sunny and --much to my Winter-worn soul's delight-- vaguely warm. After dropping off Abby for a play date at a friend's house, I pushed the Little Boys homeward in our double jogger. As we passed by the local Catholic Church, I looked up and saw this and knew --just knew-- it was today's wink.

Sunshine and a cross. Two of the most important elements of my existence, presented in a most perfect package. Not even a big red bow could've made it a sweeter gift.

January 20

Today marked yet another difficult milestone for us: 52 weeks ago, Logan was admitted to the hospital for the final time. The end of his stay was February 11, the day he passed from his earthly body and my frail human arms into his Heavenly body and God's complete and total care.

So it was especially important for me to see something like this:

It's a honeybee. Given that our usually temperate weather has been marred and jarred of late by sub-freezing nights and cool days, it was surprising to both Adam and me to see it resting there on a vibrant flower petal.

It was, to be succinct, a much-needed sign of life. We're still very much --both literally and figuratively-- in the depths of Winter, yet somehow, that sweet little bee was out and about, getting ready for the business of Spring and the new life that's to come.

January 19

Today was mentally exhausting. There was nothing about it that was outrageously emotionally challenging --just a dance class and a birthday party-- but I'm a little fragile these days. So I spent a few hours this afternoon napping under a cozy blanket, trying to recover from the strain that honestly, I feel like I shouldn't feel.

So it was extra nice when dinner time rolled around and I saw this on the stove:

A sweet little mound of beautiful rolls, made by my Hunny. And it's more than just bread: it's love on a plate. It's him taking care of me and the rest of our family, just like God says He cares for us. It's a small thing, but on the very-hard days, sometimes the smallest things mean the most.

January 18

As one who prefers burning the midnight oil to rising with the sun, I'm straight-faced serious when I say that mornings can be tough around these parts. But despite the inevitable hustle and bustle, moments like this make the early-hour insanity decidedly more bearable.

I was deeply gratified this morning when, after loading everyone into the car for drop-off, Abby immediately grabbed a book and began reading to The Little Boys. No prompting from me, no threats, no near-noxious sibling nagging. She just did it.

She drives me completely nuts some days, but as a big sister, she can be completely amazing. And definitely a blessing from God.

January 17

I just love Mater. I defy you to look into those huge eyes and not love him.

And I love him even more than usual right now.

It's been one of those I'm-looking-but-I'm-just-not-seeing-anything-noteworthy days. I sat in the comfy chair in my family room not long ago struggling to come up with something vaguely enlightening to share, half-worried that I'd fail just 17 days in.

And then I looked over and saw Mater, watching me. Smiling. And the sight made my heart really happy. It made me think of Logan. And beyond that, I got the distinct sense that sometimes, God just sits there smiling as he watches me, too.

This may well be my goofiest entry to date, but hey, God has a sense of humor.

January 16

I'd like to take a moment to introduce you to my dinner:

It's a near-perfectly browned cheddar, mozzarella and feta sandwich with spinach. Or at least it was before I ate it 20 minutes ago. But I guess that doesn't explain its presence in a non-cooking blog, huh? Here goes.

I see God in the blessing of having an abundance of food to combine into a single sandwich. Really, I opened my fridge and found all three kinds of cheese, butter and a container of organic spinach at my immediate disposal. Food is a blessing that I take for granted every single day, so I'm glad that tonight --if only during this one short flash of time-- I saw God in my grilled cheese.

January 15

Anyone who's followed me for a while knows that music speaks to me. (But not in a crazy, the-walls-have-eyes kind of way.) There have been several times over the course of the past few years when I've 'heard' God address me via the lyrics of a given song.

A few weeks ago, I thought of a song I hadn't heard in ages, the one-time country hit "How Your Love Makes Me Feel" by Diamond Rio. It just flitted into my head, and I half-chuckled as I remembered its feel-good message and lighthearted tone. (I mean, come on, who doesn't feel a little tippy thinking about cows in the road? Ba-dum bum!)

Anyway, as irony would have it, I actually heard that very song the next time I turned on my car radio. And it gave me a nearly gleeful two minutes of driving time.

And then, of course, I once again found myself bogged down with the cares of this world and forgot about the cow in the road and the ice cream cone and the sweet little moments that dot life's lane.

Until this evening, when once again, it came on the radio. And I thought about it. I mean, if this is a God wink like I think it is, how awesome is it that the God of the Universe is telling me that I'm so cool that I make His heart leap? I guess that sounds a little vain, but the reality is --if you buy into the heart of Christianity-- that God feels that way about every single person on the planet. I think that's pretty darn wow-worthy.

And definitely worth a spontaneous little "How Your Love Makes Me Feel" dance party.

January 14

Maybe we're a wee bit unconventional, but we still have Christmas lights twinkling on a trio of trees in our backyard.

They're solar, so as long as we don't have too many sunless days, our nights (or at least the first few hours following sundown) are illuminated by those delightfully colorful Light Brite-esque patches of goodness.

And that's a very good thing, because it's important to remember that no matter how dark it may be outside, there are still points of light illuminating the black sky. That's something to appreciate.

January 13

When we visit Logan's grave each Sunday afternoon, the other kids enjoy cavorting with a trio of horses who make their home on the plot of land adjacent to the cemetery. Today, I stood back and watched as The Little Boys took turns feeding two of the beautiful creatures long, slender blades of grass.

I relished their happy giggles as the horses happily accepted the offerings. It's a joy to watch them --all three of them-- grow and learn and enjoy the wonders of the world. It can be hard to see the beauty amid the harsh realities of a broken world, but it's still there. And it's found in the simplest of places. Even on a muddy hill, on shared sides of a chain link fence.

January 12

After the multi-part in-your-face bonanza that was yesterday's wink, I expected today's to be more subtle. And indeed it was.

What is that, exactly? It's the roof of our commuter car, snuggled up underneath a thick coat of fuzzy-looking ice. Even though it rained last night, it was still stunning to go outside this morning and see the frozen results. We live in Northern California and that simply doesn't happen here. We never (and I mean never) see snow, sleet or freezing rain. But it's been unseasonably cold, and, well, ice happened.

So what's so thrilling about ice and snow and what does God have to do with it? I'm an East Coast girl. I grew up with seasonal ice and snow; it's what I knew as a child. The cold snap and the frost gave me a much-needed taste of home. And for that, I'm grateful.

January 11

Today is my birthday. I spent much of it looking for Logan. As evening approached and my search remained without fruit, a distinct sense of discouragement began to set in. And then, on the way to dinner, everything suddenly changed, right there on Stoneridge Drive between our house and the Cheesecake Factory.

Adam decided, out of the blue, to turn up the radio's volume. We were pleased --heartened, even-- to hear the first bars of "Life is a Highway", which is not only the Cars theme song, but one of Logan's personal favorites. I decided, spur-of-the-moment style, to record Abby, Isaac and Brady groovin' to the beat. Moments later, Abby and Isaac began chirping about a nearby yellow car. Abby insisted --aggressively-- that I record the car. I didn't. But I did turn around. And I saw this:

For the non-Cars-initiated, it may not mean much, but that bright yellow Pontiac GTO meant an awful lot to us. Earlier today, while I was co-oping in Isaac's preschool classroom, Adam and Brady watched a batch of Cars Toons. One of the mini-episodes features a minor character known as Nurse GTO, who is, as it happens, a bright yellow Pontiac GTO.

Although she's a minor character, that particular little car meant a lot to Logan: He gave his favorite hospital staffer, the blonde haired, blue eyed hem/onc nurse practitioner named Molly, that very car a few years ago. She told me recently that she still keeps it on her desk and thinks of him when she sees it.

I know it was a colossal wink. I felt it. I'm not sure I'd ever even seen a yellow GTO until today (probably because, after a quick check, I saw that only 2,464 were ever made in yellow jacket). And I'm grateful that he found --or was given-- an unexpected and creative way to say hello when I really needed a sign.

January 10

I couldn't stop staring skyward this afternoon. The clouds were puffy and beautiful and they absolutely glowed with late-day sunlight. I know I talked about the heavens just a few days ago, but I can't help it: they spoke to me again today:

As I snapped this photo, my mind's eye imagined Logan perched atop the highest billow, far-removed from the pains and trials of life on earth but still... there.

Despite the brokenness that runs rampant in this fallen world, sights like this remind me that breathtaking beauty is still out there. If I take the time to look up and see it.

January 9

Sometimes, I see God in the littlest things. And not in the cliche way; in quite literally, the smallest items.

Logan's preschool teacher gave him a tiny blue plastic frog when he started in the Year to Grow class in the Fall of 2011. He was fresh out of treatment and we had high hopes that the worst was in the rear view.

He treasured that itty bitty frog, and it appeared and disappeared over the months that followed. Shortly after he passed on, it turned up on the carpet in our family room, and I picked it up and placed it on the second shelf of the computer desk. It's been there ever since.

It's a sweet feeling to look up and see that petite frog standing guard, reminding me that the little things are sometimes the things to be valued most.

January 8

More often than not, God doesn't jump in my path and shout TA-DAH! Here I am! In fact, I can count the number of times that's happened to me on no hands. Some days, I have to look... and look... and look some more. And then things come into focus.

As The Little Boys and I walked to retrieve Abby from school this afternoon, I gazed up at the scant, wispy clouds as they slow-danced in the sky. They were so free and beautiful in their own cloud-way. And they reminded me that there's more to this life than what happens here on the ground.

After all, if we can perceive the freedom in the sky here on earth and appreciate its impressive expanse, how much more impressive must Heaven be? How much more amazing must those pure white brushstrokes look from the other side?

January 7

The mailman brought me an unexpected letter today. It was from a woman I've never met. As I read, I learned that she lost her daughter tragically a number of years ago. And I felt my heart leap into my throat as I perused the lines of text. So much of what she said resonated with me so deeply that I know she was speaking God's truth into my life.

Thank you, Anita, for taking a chance and contacting me, a virtual stranger. I think I may have found a brand new pen pal.

January 6

I know plenty of folks who love nothing more than a good rainy day. While I do like listening to the occasional drip-drop on my rooftop, I'm perfectly content to live in a place where the sky doesn't weep at all between May and October.

But it's January, and today was a grey and rainy one of the on-and-off variety.

We took our customary Sunday afternoon trip to visit Logan's grave, which is located here in town, just a 10 minutes' drive from home. While Things 1, 3 and 4 waited in the car, Adam and I got out to survey the plants and say our hellos. I was dismayed to see that the once-colorful array of blooms had fallen victim to the past week's frosted mornings. I fingered the leaves of a plant left by an anonymous visitor. For some reason, I pushed a few of them aside, and that's when I saw this

A single fledgling flower, protected from the elements by an umbrella of waxy leaves. Tender new life, guarded and concealed until its time to shine arrives. It's probably one of the most overused examples of God's presence, but it stood out to me today.

January 5

Chances are really, really good that I'm going to talk about my kids a lot. And for good reason: they're four of the biggest (small) blessings in my life.

And sometimes they do things that make my jaw drop. Sometimes, it drops in horror or embarrassment. But sometimes, it drops in amazement. Pride. Surprise. I had one of those moments today.

Logan loved Pixar Cars. As long as I live, I will never, ever acknowledge that a child who is not Logan could ever love them as ardently as my Sunshine did. But Brady, I will admit, runs a close second. He loves to tote them around in a little (Cars-themed, of course) bucket. He loves to drive them, name them, and line them up in parking lot formation, just like his big brother did. It still takes my breath away and probably always will; after all, he was just 13 months old when Logan passed on, and it pains me deeply that he won't remember his biggest brother. Yet the two share a passion for the cars with faces.

Earlier today, Brady was once again collecting and lining up cars on our ottoman. He'd just left the room to re-load when Adam suddenly exclaimed "Hey, look". When I glanced over, I saw this

Pretty neat, huh? Cars arranged by a two-year old in the shape of a cross. Poignantly appropriate. And a suggestion that maybe, just maybe --if you'll forgive the moment of whimsy-- there are Cars in Heaven.

January 4

I knew this would happen! It's taken me less than a week to fall behind! Oh well. It's just me, I guess.

Anyway, this is Brady (and his much-relished Red Vine).

He turned two in December. And in a lot of ways, he saved my life.

I was 21 weeks pregnant with him when Logan was diagnosed with cancer just a tick after turning 4. There I was, enmeshed in what could very accurately be termed a nightmare. I could've allowed my circumstances to own me. I could've become hopelessly, irrevocably depressed. I could've given up.

But I knew I had to keep living for that tiny little guy growing in my womb.

So yeah, you could say that I see an awful lot of God in those hazel eyes and wild blonde hair.

January 3

Yep, there's God. Nestled right there in a bed of creamy frosting dotted with festive red and green sprinkles.

Before you call the sacrilege police, hear me out on this one. I know it sounds fresh-off-the-turnip-truck weird.

I found these marvelous cookies today (okay, yesterday, but I was too tired to write last night) at Target. And the whole container of deliciousness cost a whopping 29 cents, thanks to Christmas clearance. That's a drool-inducing 90% off.

I love sales. I love these soft, sweet, frosted sugar cookies. (I love them so much that sometimes I even pay full price.) Since the Bible says that God knows us intimately, He knows these things about me. It may seem like a very small thing, but the cookies made me smile. They made me happy and took the edge off an otherwise stressful day that may or may not have involved a certain toddler very nearly falling out of a shopping cart. Despite a popular saying about who is in the details, I very much believe that God is in them. He's not just wrapped up in the huge picture. He cares about the little things, too. Even the ones that seem trivial.

So that's why God is in the sugar cookies.

January 2

Today was a slow one on the homestead, the kind that transforms any self-respecting stay-at-home mom coming off a long vacation into a clock-stalker. Not to say that it was a bad day; just a little, uh, lengthy.

That said, I see God Bytes in my kids' faces each and every day (when they're not screaming and fighting and throwing fits and yelling at each other. They're always precious, of course, but they're a little less precious when they're engaged in the Quest for Sibling Domination). So it follows that today's God Wink comes in the form of two of said little hooligans, numbers three and four, collectively known (by me) as The Little Boys. And generally known by the population at-large as Isaac and Brady.

Isaac hounded me over playing Farmville for a good hour this morning before I relented and headed for cover in the kitchen to clear my head. When I came back into the room a few minutes later, I saw this

The scene warmed my heart. The two of them share a genuine, God-given adoration of one another that amazes me. Logan was my sweetheart and I will mourn him until the day I join him in Heaven. But looking at the two of them sharing that single seat, playing a game that Logan loved, was like looking back in time and forward into the future all at once. No matter how you slice it, it's love. And that's never a bad thing.

January 1

Ever since the idea to do this came to me, I've been chomping at the proverbial bit to get started. And of course, the dawning of the new year seemed as good a time as any for me to fully embrace my blatant adoration of cliches and dive in. (Or at least a logical springboard, if nothing else.)

And then today came. I took a few photos. I looked around. I waited. I listened. And honestly, I didn't see much.

Until a few minutes ago. As I rounded the bend between my dining room and kitchen, intent on rejoining Adam for our evening session of the awesomeness that is watching David Hasselhoff rock his vanilla fro in Knight Rider, I saw this.

And I stopped for a moment to look at it. Sure, it's just a black sign that reads 'Hope'. But I think it's more than that.

What do we have if we don't have hope? I pass this sign multiple times each day --it sits on my kitchen counter (though I confess I cheated and moved it a little to get a better picture)-- but I never really see it. And that's an important thing to remember as 2013 starts: regardless of where we are, how we feel, how desperate times seem, hope is always there amid the junk on our kitchen counters. Even if we don't see it.

The Project, Explained

I'll be the first to admit the bitter truth: I kind of suck at being a blogger. So the notion of me starting yet another new one seems laughable. But this one... well, this one seemed too important to pass up.

With the anniversary of my Sunshine's untimely passing from this world into the next just a month and change away, it's becoming increasingly important for me to feel God. To recognize His presence, to see signs that He's still moving in this horrifically broken world.

So that's what I'm setting out to do. For the weeks and months to come, I'm going to look for those God Winks. Even on the days when things seem bleak and the mantle of this life feels too heavy to bear, I'm going to see God.

So where will He be? In the face of a child? In a puddle of spilled coffee? In a sunset or a sudden rainstorm?

Because though life has shaken my faith, I'm sure of one thing: God will show Himself. And I'll observe those moments, as long as my eyes are open.